Love or Treason
by Liebling
Summary: ‘It's a jumbled mess of confusion and chaos and everything else that symbolizes these things.’ (Lucius&Narcissa)


A/N: Don't tell me if this doesn't make sense, it isn't supposed to make sense, not whole sense anyway. I let the words flow and I just let what happened happen. So, yep. Enjoy, read it, review it, whatever.  
  
;)  
  
Disclaimer: All JK's.  
  
*  
  
If you asked Narcissa what she thought of Lucius you would've gotten a terribly vague response. Something about 'love' or 'treason' and something totally out of context.  
  
But no one asked Narcissa what she thought of Lucius.  
  
No one wanted to know the answer.  
  
No one wants to know that Santa does not exist. No one wants to know that unicorns don't come out at night. No one wants to know that there are people who will betray you...and enjoy it. No one wants to know that the love between Narcissa and Lucius was not only faked but totally not there to begin with.  
  
They were without a spark, without an empty firework, without passion.  
  
He was a fiery young man with sugary blond hair and a sneer that could scare off Fudge. He held no mercy in his heart or anywhere else for that matter. The man was attracted to things of beauty and items that cost more money than you or I could fathom. He enjoyed the sport of Quidditch even though he thought it to be 'crude', he liked fencing more. Said it was a sport for the classic. He was intelligent, probably more intelligent than you or I for it was innate in his soul. If you could go as far as to say he even had a soul. He worked for a very powerful man who went by the name of 'Voldemort' and he worked hard and he worked well. He was an amazing spy--he had no conscious. Rarely did he deny his support for the Dark Lord and even if he did deny it was just so bloody obvious anyway.  
  
His wife was a very odd person and not odd like you or I. She didn't like jelly on her sandwiches or croutons in her salad, hair ribbons in her hair, no, not odd like that. She was odd in the way that she fell for a man who had no soul. There were no illusions there was no: "I thought you loved me!" Narcissa Malfoy knew JUST what she was getting herself in and she knew JUST how much pain these choices would cause her. But she was without a care. She knew he was a stuck up prat with little care about anyone...including her. She knew that when they kissed at Slytherin table over a breakfast of fried oatmeal that it was just that...a kiss at Slytherin table. And for a girl the age Narcissa was, this behavior was odd. What girl wouldn't try to look more into that unexpected kiss? Well, it was expected, really. It was a play without words and without thought. It just was.  
  
They married in a cathedral, a very pretty one I might add and everyone was happy that day. Lucius said the word "bloody" nine times that evening, four referring to dead bodies and five for emphasis. They had red wine...too much red wine and her diamond ring stayed on her long pale finger. It was expensive and because it was expensive...you had to smile.  
  
They kissed far too much for her taste that evening, and not enough for his. There were prudent kisses on the cheek and long kisses on crackled or glossy lips. They were in front of the 'assembly' and the crowd "oooh-ed" and "awww-ed" and the two--"lovers" rolled their eyes, their hands locked. They waltzed, a very long waltz which made her feet tired so he held her in his arms for the rest of the waltz. Her arms around his neck.  
  
It was a very romantic type of thing, the sort that fairy tales are made of. The sort that make young girls giggle and blush. The sort that make Narcissa roll her eyes and tilt back her head. When the waltz is over he sets her down on her feet and they go back to the table to take sweet sips of red wine.  
  
"It's lovely," she whispers, "it's...gorgeous."  
  
"Like you," he adds.  
  
"It's very pretty," she comments, almost without emotion as though she was watching someone else's wedding instead of her very own.  
  
"Yeah," he says with a sigh as he undoes his silver and green tie.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
They live in a dark cold manor. She swears she hears ghosts and he swears they're "nothing" and even if they were something they'll "bugger off soon."  
  
Ghosts don't just "bugger off."  
  
He can't hear the ghosts, it's an odd sort of thing, he can't hear anything but her breathing next to him. He says the ghosts like her because she's gorgeous.  
  
...she's never bought that.  
  
One day they have a child, a beautiful baby boy with round pencil-lead eyes and pale hair just like his Father's. One day, she's a Mother. She's very ready for the responsibility but not so ready for the love.  
  
Her husband goes off to "work" every single day without fail nor rest and sometimes he goes off to the Three Broomsticks and flirts with Rosmerta. Rosmerta laughs from her belly and says, "Mister. Malfoy...you've had one too many."  
  
"Rosmerta," he says curtly with a bow of his head, "you're lovely."  
  
It's typical flirting with nothing else added on to it but you can bet that Rosmerta went home that night and giggled herself to sleep.  
  
Narcissa knows about these outings with Lucius and "the boys." And she sighs and realizes that she was never really his to begin with. Really.  
  
It's a sad arrival of the major "truth" that we call life but she's known it for ages.   
  
He comes home, calls her "darling" and trudges up to his bed, his tie undone and his hair mussed up.  
  
She sighs and walks about with the baby in his pram over the marble floor.  
  
This 'baby' grows up and one day he leaves for Hogwarts, she kisses his forehead and tells him to be good, and that if he needs anything to owl them or talk to Professor Snape. Her husband is absent from the typical 'sending off' but she tells him his Father said that he'll go visit him soon at school. He grins boyishly, kisses his Mummy's cheek and says: "You be good too, Mummy."  
  
She smiles.  
  
Now she's alone at home while her husband is at work or play...or whatever. We don't even know, now. It's a jumbled mess of confusion and chaos and everything else that symbolizes these things. She's lost, she isn't at home, her path is gone and her husband is...wherever.  
  
One night, he comes home and sees her crying big crystal tears on the couch. He rushes to her side, takes off his tie and puts an arm around her.  
  
"Narcissa?"  
  
No answer.  
  
"Narcissa...look at me, love."  
  
She tilts her head up to look at him but utters no words.  
  
"Narcissa."  
  
His voice is getting louder now, more rushed. His isn't comfortable with this outpouring of emotion from the 'young' lady.  
  
"Narcissa!"  
  
The mascara is dripping down her cheeks and her eyelashes are dark, her cheeks dark red. Her eyes burn through his and the tears still flow.  
  
"I'm here..." he says softly in her ear "...I'm here."  
  
He is there...sort of.  
  
The next day things are bright and ready and 'just like normal.' If there ever was a normal.  
  
And the next morning, she dies.  
  
They say before you die you have one wholly gathering of the truth and you realize things you always knew. But you realize them again. And that night before, Narcissa knew that he would hold her all night long in his arms, just like he had done during the waltz. She knew, and she wasn't sure why she knew.  
  
She just knew.  
  
It didn't have anything to do with love or treason or anything ridiculous like that. It had to do with the fact that she was the Mother of his son and she was his wife. And it was terribly simpler than 'love' or 'treason.'  
  
It just was.  
  
So she is gone with no parting words except he swore he heard her muttering something vague about "Love" or "Treason" but you can never be so sure, can you?  
  
*  
  
La Fin 


End file.
